


He's Mine

by jkkitty



Series: Love Your Brother [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Beating, Heavy Angst, Holmes Brothers, Insanity, Kidnapped, M/M, Psychological Torture, Rape, Sexual Violence, Sibling Incest, Torture, Violence, holmescrest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22656364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jkkitty/pseuds/jkkitty
Summary: The brothers are together and John is now living far from London.  However, although John is exile by Mycroft, he has only one goal--Making Sherlock his no matter how he needs to achieve his desire.  Insanity develops as John carries out his plan.*Whenever Moriarty speaks, it's initialized
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/ John Watson (one sided)
Series: Love Your Brother [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/768837
Comments: 22
Kudos: 42





	1. Now, Johnny-Boy, The Fun Will Begin.

**Author's Note:**

> Following up with. Although this story can stand alone, I suggest you read 'Come Back To Me' first.

Once more, Mycroft watched his brother twisting and turning in his sleep while mumbling and crying out in pain. The nightmares had been going on for months. When he could stand in no longer, he woke Sherlock up gently.

Sherlock opened his eyes to see the worried face of his brother looking down at him. 

“Sherlock, you have been avoiding sleep lately, and when you have no more options, you have nightmares when your tired body makes you sleep.” 

The detective turned away from his brother. “I’m sorry that I woke you again. Maybe I should sleep in the guest room or go home. Your sleep shouldn’t be interrupted.” 

“You know that I don’t want either of those options. Tell me what it is that’s giving you nightmares or why you’re afraid to sleep my love,” Mycroft worried over his brother. His sleeplessness has been happening for a few weeks after they had left the hospital. This had been the first time in the last week that he had fallen asleep.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Sherlock tried to assure him.

“Sherlock! Enough. I know it’s something about John. Your dreams are always begging him not to do something. Now please tell me what is going on.”

“It’s foolishness. John is still where you placed him and has done nothing unusual.”

“Yes, he’s been in the same place since his release from the cell. You know that if he so much as takes one step out of line, my people would let me know. The last report says that he goes to work each day, comes home and eats, watches some rubbish TV while he drinks himself into a stupor before going to bed. Occasionally he goes to the local inn for supper and drinks with some of the men from the town. Once a week, he has his groceries delivered to his house by the local delivery boy. Now, what is it about him, that is causing your nightmares?”

Sighing, Sherlock started to pull at his hair, “He kidnaps me, keeping me in a dark, damp place while he tortures me. Insisting that I want him, he tries to get me to admit that I love him. Also, he tells me that he is the only one who cares enough to teach me how to be a normal human being.”

“Oh darling, you know I would never allow that to happen,” Mycroft assured him as he removed his brother's hand from his hair. “And if you were ever to disappear, I would move heaven and earth to find you.”

“I know, and you do try, but he has me hidden someplace that no one remembers even exist.” 

Mycroft pulled Sherlock into his chest, “I would find you no matter where you are, one way or another,” he looks seriously at him. “Do you need me to rescind his freedom?”

“No! He has done nothing to break our agreement, just me being silly. I don’t want him punished for my dreams. He was my friend once.” Sherlock snuggled into his brother’s arms, “Just hold me until I fall back to sleep.”

Mycroft held him until his breath evened out and became steady. As the Ice Man’s eyes began to droop, he said, “I will kill the doctor before I allow him ever to hurt you again.” Then he placed a kiss on Sherlock’s forehead.

_______________________________________________________________________________

John looked at the area.

The sing-song voiced that had been with him since he was in the cell laughed, “ _Well, Johnny-boy, I couldn’t have planned this affair better myself. Ready for the next step to make Shelly ours?”_

“By the time Mycroft returns from his week-long meeting in France, Sherlock will be mine, and no one will know the detective is missing until the Ice Man returns. Everything is ready without anyone being wise to my plans.” 

“ _You are going to kill all the people that helped you achieve your plans, correct_ ,” Moriarty chuckled.

John still wasn’t sure he should. “ _Oh, Johnny-boy, don’t get stupid now. What is getting Sherlock for your own compared to killing some useless men.”_

“You’re right. Now go away, I need to go over my plans again,” John ordered. Silence! He didn’t need mind Moriarty bothering him now. He was ready.

He had the delivery boy drop off extra food every week to one of his men who placed it in an old shed. Another man was paid to move the supplies to a different building. Then in the middle of the night, John snuck out to move the food into an old abandon building with a dugout bomb shelter. Three-fourths of the area he made into a comfortable living area. A small part of it was an unfinished cement area that had chains and manacles bolt to the cement walls and the bed. In that room, he had placed a steel bed that was bolted into the cement floor, and shackles that were attached to the four corners of the bed.

Only one thing was missing, and he would be delivered in a few days. He had planned this since he had been placed here. First, he’d get Sherlock, then work on repaying the rest of them. 

“ _Are you sure you're capable of following through with your_ scheme?” the sing-song voice asked.

“Go away. I’m ready.” John yelled as he threw a rock toward the shadow of Moriarty. As the shadow disappeared, a wicked laugh sounded in his mind. No longer did John think of Moriarty as a live person, but as a separate entity living within him.

Leaving the cellar, he locked it. Taking a deep breath of the country air, John smiled. If everything went well, Sherlock would be here soon. It would be a long time before Sherlock, would smell the fresh air once he was imprisoned in this new home. He knew it wouldn’t be easy to break the detective but had the time, supplies, and unknown place to get it done. By the time he was done with Sherlock, the detective would be his slave. Doing what he ordered and giving himself to John went ever he was told. Oh, women still were more his first choice, but Sherlock’s body. Now that was something so many wanted, including his brother. Before he killed Mycroft, he would make him watch Sherlock begging for John and submitting to whatever John wanted from him. 

His laughter sounded wild and toward the end had a sing-song tone to it.

The doctor headed toward his bike, thinking about the car that Mycroft had given him. After today, he would no longer use it.

Reflecting on the men who are helping him, he knew Moriarty was right. It was too bad the men would have to disappear, but no one would miss them or the petty crimes they were involved in. He couldn’t allow anyone to live who knew where Sherlock was. Rubbing his hands with joy, John hopped on his cycle for the last ride to the house Mycroft had bought for him. Maybe after he had paid back all those who betrayed him, Sherlock and he would use it as their home.

Waiting at the pickup point, the sound of a car John began to get excited. It was now. Sherlock was his, and nobody could take him away. The first of those who would feel his rage would be Sherlock himself. He would show him who was in charge. Then each of the others who had offended him would get theirs. 

He walked toward the car. The two men who he had hired smiled at him, “We did jus' as you said doc.”

“Exactly?” John asked. His voice had a frightening tint to it.

His tone set the men on guard. “Sure doc, 'e’s 'ere, isn’' 'e?”

Holding his hand out, John said. “Good, then let me have his phone.”

The men looked at each other. How could the doc know what they did to the phone? One moment the men were standing, and the next, they were on the ground dead. Bending he checked that they weren’t breathing, John removed the small camera he had placed on their coats before leaving to take Sherlock. Putting his gun back into his pocket, he reached into the driver’s window flicking the switch to open the boot. As John reached the back of the car, he glanced into the boot and smiled.

“ _Now, Johnny-boy, the fun will begin.”_ John’s laughter followed, changing from his to sing-song and back. John no longer could tell the difference between himself and that of the Irish man who at one time had been his enemy. They were now one.


	2. 'Man up, Johnny-Boy'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes to answers a call from Greg and John begins the journey to achieve his desire.

Sherlock received a call from Greg, asking him to come to a crime scene. It sounded like an eight and believed to be a victim of the current serial killer. He was excited to investigate the site and the victim. There was only one problem. Mycroft was very sick and had to cancel his trip to France. Sherlock was torn between staying with his brother and going to the crime scene.

He looked at his brother who appeared miserable, “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? I can tell George that I can’t come.”

Mycroft rasp, “You know his name is Greg. I’ve told you to go. If you stay here, you might catch what I have. You know how sick you get went you catch anything. Go, all I want to do is sleep. I feel like someone ran me over right now, and I’m not fit for company. Also, cook and Anthea will be around to see I rest. You haven’t had a serial murder in ages.” Starting to cough and have a hard time catching his breath, Mycroft tried to sit up.

Placing his hand on Mycroft’s chest, “I don’t like leaving you like this,” Sherlock moved a lock of hair off his brother’s forehead and placed a gentle kiss on it. “I could stay and keep you warm,” Sherlock suggested with a wink.

“Brother dear, I couldn’t do anything of that sort if I tried. Go, help Greg. Maybe when you get back, I’ll feel more like company.”

Sherlock whined, “But I want to make you feel better. You won’t have to do anything I could do it all. You haven’t been getting any sleep, and I could solve that. You know how well you sleep after I take care of you.

“Thank you for the nice offer, but please go. I’m too sick to enjoy even that. Greg’s waiting. I’ll see you after your done. Go and make me proud of how smart you are.”

Taking one last look at his brother, Sherlock sighed and gave Mycroft another kiss on the forehead. “If you are sure, I’ll be back as soon as possible. Just sleep.” As the detective left, Mycroft buried himself in the quilt and fell asleep. 

Sherlock was just a few blocks from Mycroft’s when he received a second phone call from Greg.

“I’m on my way,” he grumbled.

“Sherlock, I need some help. I’m in the alley between York and Richard. Hurry,” and the line went dead.

Raising his hand, a cab pulled up beside Sherlock. For a moment, he smiled at how John had been jealous of his ability to do this before he remembered that the doctor was no longer with him. Getting into the cab, he gave the driver the address, and Sherlock entered his mind palace to pull up the information of the area. The intersection at York and Richmond Streets was closed to motorists and cyclists, as part of a construction project to replace old sewer and water lines on York Street. He wondered what Greg was doing halfway across town from where the DI had asked him to meet him originally.

When Sherlock arrived at the alley, he noticed something lying deeper in it. As he came closer, he recognized the silver hair of Greg. 

Running to the DI, he called his name but didn’t receive an answer. Once he was next to the fallen man, he knelt and turned Greg over. Blood was running down from the cut in the DI’s head. Sherlock pulled out his phone and called an ambulance first, then Donavon.

“Lestrade is unconscious in the alley of York and Richmond. I received a call from him to meet him at a crime scene. Then on the way there, I received another call to meet him here. Do you know why?”

“No idea freak, he received a call while at the scene and told me to take over before leaving to meet you. What did you do to him?” Sally demanded.

“Don’t show your idiocy by letting your dislike of me get in the way of finding out why he called me here. He’s hurt,” Sherlock stopped when hearing a noise behind him. As he turned, he was hit across the forehead with a tire iron. 

Sally screamed into the phone when he stopped talking. “Sherlock, what the hell is going on?”.

One of the men who had attacked the detective picked up the phone and spoke into it before he dropped and stepped on it, causing the phone to shatter.

“The Doc isn’t going to like that you did that,'” the second man warned. 

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. What did you want me to do? Let whoever was on the phone know what was going on. Now help me get him into the boot before the ambulance gets here.”

The two men lifted Sherlock and folded him into the boot. Once he was secured, the second man removed a full syringe and plunged it into Sherlock’s neck. Hearing the ambulance’s siren, he slammed the boot closed and jumped into the car.

Pulling out quickly, the driver hit the corner of the nearest building, scraping the car. Without checking, they followed the directions John had given them driving through alleys and smaller streets until they left the city to avoid Mycroft’s cameras. Soon they were on the A4 heading east. 

“After driving for a while, the driver wondered, “What do you think the doc wants with that guy back there?”

“Don’t know but the way he planned this kidnapping, including the tape of that other guy's voice, and how much he is paying us, he must want him badly.”

“Maybe, we could hit him up for a little more money, what do you think about that?” the driver suggested.

“Not me. You didn’t see what the doc did to Brian when he tried to steal a lot of food he was supposed to move for the Doc.”

“What happened?”

“Well, Brian decided to take a week’s worth of groceries he was supposed to take care of for Doc. He figured he would tell the Doc it wasn’t there when he went to get it. What he didn’t know was the Doc was suspicious he was stealing and was watching him. By the time Doc got done with him, he didn’t have an unbroken bone in his legs or arms, just like the Doc knew how to break all of them. I’m not crossing the doc.” After that, the rest of the ride was in silence.

John was waiting for the car at the drop-off point. He thought about the men who were watching the house and wondered how long after his normal time that he usually rose, would they investigate why he wasn’t up. After finding him missing, they would search the area, before notifying Anthea that he was AWOL.

All this time that he had been in the town, no one ever noticed him leaving after dark and returning before dawn. He had always made sure to stagger into his bedroom at night, turn off the light, and look like he was staying until morning. The motorcycle he used to get around was hidden in another empty barn close to his house. Everything was going as he planned.

The sound of the car had Watson smiling. It was now that he would start teaching Sherlock to love him. Barely able to keep his joy contained, he walked to the car.

The two men he had hired were men who didn’t go into the town, so they were perfect for the job. 

‘ _Don’t forget Johnny-Boy_ _. Y ou’ll have to kill them._’ Moriarty whispered to him.

John wasn’t sure he wanted to kill someone. “No one will miss them if I let them go. They’ll leave, and no one will be wiser.”

‘ _Getting cold feet Johnny-Boy? You must not want Sherlock as bad as you said.’_

“Shut up. I don’t have cold feet. I’ll do what I have to, so I’m just thinking about my options.”

‘ _Man up Johnny-Boy. Join the big boys or stay someone’s pet all your life.”_

The men left the car to join John. “Hey doc, The package is in the trunk..”

John had them open the trunk, and when he saw the blood across Sherlock’s forehead, he became irate. “I told you not to hurt him.” His anger built as he looked at Sherlock’s bleeding head. He was the only one that can hurt his love, and that’s himself to help Sherlock understand his place.

"Couldn't 'help it doc He turned when I swung the pipe. He's breathing okay, so no harm. Besides, he’s not complaining.”

“I told you not to hurt him.” Turning to the men, he pulled his gun, and a second later, the two laid on the ground dead.

He spared a glance at the dead men. After Sherlock was secured in his new room, he would get rid of the men and the car. The lake not far from here was abandoned. Not even the town kids used it.

Taking a deep breath, John lifted Sherlock fireman style and headed down the stairs to the old hidden bomb shelter that was Sherlock’s new home.


	3. “WHAT WAS THAT YOU SAID?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The news isn't good. Mycroft is very ill, Sherlock is missing, Doctor Watson has gone dark, and Anthea is trying to balance everything.

Although she knew Mycroft was ill, Anthea decided to check with him on a critical problem but received no answer when she called his private number. She tried the cook’s phone to find the woman was at the shop and wouldn’t be home for a few minutes yet. Using her emergency key, she let herself in, turned off the alarm upon entering, then turned it on again, before she headed up to Mycroft’s bedroom. Opening the door, she saw Mycroft and immediately became concerned. Walking to the bed, she placed her head on his forehead to find it hot. “Mycroft, can you hear me?”

He muttered, “Yes, Mommy, but Sherlock doesn’t want that soup. He doesn’t like anything with vegetables in it.”

“Sir, it’s Anthea. You’re at home in your bed.”

“No, Sherlock, we can’t go into Father’s den? Now be a good boy for me because if he catches us, we won’t be able to do any experiments for a year.” 

From the top of the stairs, Anthea called down. “Cook, are you home yet?”

“I just came in ma’am. What did you need?” She asked, out of breath from rushing so that Mr. Holmes wouldn’t be left alone for any length of time.

“Can you bring up some cool, wet towels?” 

The old cook came quickly and handed her what she had asked for. Looking at Mycroft, she was also concerned. “He wasn’t like that when I checked on him an hour ago to go to the store for some soup fixings.” The older Holmes had sweat pouring down his face yet he was visibly shaking and moaning. The woman placed a towel on his forehead and used another one to wipe off the sweat hoping to cool him down. Troubled over Mycroft’s confusion, Anthea called his doctor. 

Once the doctor arrived and examined Mycroft, he gave her a report on his condition, “I’m going to give him a shot of Penicillin now, but he needs IV fluids and antibiotics. He should be in the hospital where we can provide for not only his current needs but also anything else that might come up. I know it’s just a case of the flu but with how he drives himself without sleeping and eating properly, he’s run down, and it has hit him hard. Let’s stop it from progressing to anything else.”

As Anthea phone for the hospital bed and ambulance, the doctor gave the injection.

Within a few minutes, everything was arranged, and an M15 ambulance was on its way. “I’ll ride along with him in case he says anything he shouldn’t.”

“You really are a jewel, Anthea. What would Mr. Holmes do without you?” The doctor asked. 

“I’m just his PA and doing what needs to be done.” Hearing the ambulance, she asked,   
“Would you go downstairs and let them in then lead them up here? I’ll stay with him.” 

Smiling at her, the doctor said, “I know better than that. Without you, he would be lost at times.” Then headed down to let the attendants in and bring them up to Mycroft’s room. Clearing the chairs out of the way, Anthea waited. When they were heading toward the ambulance, she reset the alarm and locked the door before joining the doctor.

Once they were on their way, Mycroft called out, “Sherlock. Where are you?” 

“Sir, it’s Anthea. You’re very sick and on the way to the hospital. Sherlock isn’t here right now. He joined DI Lestrade on a case earlier this morning. Do you want me to call him for you?”

Mycroft turned his head toward his PA. It took him a few minutes to clear his vision, “Leave him be. I remember now. It’s an eight on his scale and a serial killer. It’s my brother’s type of case and only comes along occasionally. Can I have some water? I’m so dry.?”

Anthea looked at the doctor, who shook his head no. “Sorry, sir. The doctor is afraid you’ll choke right now. There is an IV fluid hooked up that will help with the thirst.”

When they arrived at the hospital, Anthea called Lady Smallwood to let her know about Mycroft's condition. Then she tried Sherlock receiving no answer. The doctor called her into the room before she could try anyone else. “He’s calling for you.”

She entered the darkened room to see Mycroft sitting up wrapped in blankets. “Aren’t you supposed to be lying down, sir?”

“Don’t you start, I’ve heard enough of that from the doctor. I need you to take a few messages for Lady Smallwood and the council.” For the next half an hour, he passed on the information needed for representing him at the conference. When they were finished with the data, he asked, “Did you get in touch with Sherlock? I don’t want him going to the house and finding me gone.”

“The DI called him to a different place, and I haven’t heard anything else yet.”

“Keep me informed,” Mycroft said as he slowly laid back down and was asleep immediately.

While Mycroft was sleeping, Anthea stepped into a private room to pass on the information that Mycroft had shared with her. After finishing the call, she was stepping out of the room when her phone rang.

Looking at the ID, she quickly stepped back in before answering. 

“Yes.” She said, then listened. “WHAT WAS THAT YOU SAID?” she demanded.

“Dr. Watson has disappeared, ma’am,” agent Davidson said. He was assigned to the doctor’s observation on the night shift. “I saw him go to bed last evening, and there was no movement all night. When he didn’t get up at his regular time, I waited for a couple of hours then checked on him.”

“Your orders were to investigate any irregularity in his behavior immediately. You didn’t think it was unusual when he didn’t get up on time?”

“I thought perhaps he overslept or something,” Davidson offered in defense.

“You are not paid to think! Did you call the rest of the team to help find him yet?” When he didn’t answer, “Davidson,” Anthea bit out, “Call the rest of the team immediately. When someone who knows what they’re doing gets there, have them call me the instant they arrive. AM I CLEAR?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And Davidson, when the leader of your team reaches you, you are relieved of your duties and are to go back to headquarters directly. You’ll are to stay there until either Mr. Holmes, or I speak to you, understand?”

“Can’t I be of more help here, ma’am?” he asked hopefully.

“We’ve had more than enough of your help, report to headquarters.” The steel in her voice left no room for argument. She hung up before he could respond.

After hanging up, Anthea called Sherlock’s phone again. When she received no answer, she called the DI only to be told that the phone was out of service. Very concerned, she called the NSY operator, where Donovan answer Greg’s phone. 

“This is Mr. Holmes, PA, Anthea. I’m trying to reach DI Lestrade.”

“The DI is in the hospital with a concussion. I’ve taken over for him at this time. What can I do for you?”

“I’m trying to reach Sherlock Holmes, and the last I heard he was with the DI. Do you know where he is?”

“No idea. The Freak called to say that he had found the DI down and that he had called an ambulance. His phone when dead while we were speaking. When we reached the location, the ambulance had just arrived. Greg had come around but said he hadn’t seen the Freak. We did find two phones smashed at the scene, and Greg thought the one was Sherlock's. There was also some blood I assume was his as the DI hadn’t bled where we found the other blood.”

“And you didn’t think it was important to notify Mr. Holmes that his younger brother was missing and could be in danger?”

“I had other things to do. The Freak wasn’t on the top of my list,” Sally made it clear she didn’t care about what had happened to Sherlock.

“You will find, Miss Donovan, that your callous attitude will endanger your job. The dislike you have toward Sherlock Holmes may have endangered his life. I just hope that isn’t the case. And if you call him Freak again, you’ll have me to answer to.”

“Are you threatening me?” Sally couldn’t believe that someone would menace her over the Freak.

“Be aware that I don’t make idle threats, and the results will not bode well for you,” Anthea responded as she hung up the phone. 

She really missed the old phones, where she could have slammed the receiver down when angry to get satisfaction. Notifying her team in the city to investigate the site of the attack, she went to check on Mycroft to find him arguing with the doctor demanding his release immediately. Knowing that, in this case, Mycroft wouldn’t win the argument, she decided to head to the scene of the abduction so she might have some answers to offer her boss when she faced him.


	4. ‘Now, that’s my boy.’

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wakes up to find himself in trouble and surprised as to who kidnapped him.

Sherlock woke cold and disoriented. The cot under his back was metal and cold. Trying to sit up, he found he couldn’t. Shaking his head to try to clear it was the wrong thing to do as he felt like it was splitting in two. He laid quietly, and after it settled a few minutes later, he slowly looked around. He found his hands tied then chained above his head, and his feet bound the same way and chained to the floor. The walls were dirt-covered old bricks while the floor was cement. When he shook his body, the bed he was laying on didn’t move. The only other items in the room were a cabinet and a table in the corner. No wonder he was cold, once more, all but his pants had been removed. He wondered why everyone always removed his clothes when they kidnapped him.

Knowing he wasn’t going anywhere for a while, he entered his mind palace to figure out who had taken him. Most of the men who he had caught since he had come back were either in jail or dead. Of the men from before, most were still locked up, and those that weren’t didn’t seem to want revenge. He was brought back to the room with the opening of the door.

A bright light was turned on. It took a minute to adjust to the brightness, and when able to see the door clearly, he saw someone standing there. “John?”

“Good afternoon, Sherlock. Sorry about the drugging, but I to make sure you didn’t wake up before I had you settled in your new home.”

Sherlock exploded, “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing? When Mycroft gets a hold of you, he’ll kill you this time.”

“I have no doubt he would. But he’ll never find us. Right now, he’s at that big shot conference in France until next week. I believe he’ll find the trail is cold by the time he returns.” John ignored Sherlock’s tone but said, “That is one.”

“And what does that mean?” Sherlock demanded.

“I’ll explain later, but right now, I advise that you watch how you speak to me.”

“How would you know where Mycroft is?”

“The news. If you know who your opponent is, you keep track of their movements. The conference was all over the television. Telling the population that all the important people behind the scenes would be attending. Once I heard that I knew I had a week to make you disappear.”

“You don’t really think you can get away with this. Mycroft has all of the government resources at his command,” Sherlock glared at him. “You’re more of an idiot than I ever believed you were.”

“Two,” John said as he set out breakfast for Sherlock. “Now, I know your hands are unavailable, so I’ll have to feed you.”

Sherlock shouted at him. “Are you serious? I don’t intend to eat unto you leave me out of this place.”

In a flash, John was up and slapped his face leaving a mark that was sure to bruise. “You will do what you’re told and when you’re told to do it. Now you will either eat the food I brought you or I’ll force-feed you.”

The men stared at each other. When Sherlock did not indicate that he would eat, John pulled a strap up from the side of the bed and placed it across his head before buckling it to the other side to prevent his head from moving. Then he forced his mouth open, placing a spider gag into it. Next, he started placing a tube down his throat. “I’d swallow unless you want the food going down your windpipe.” One shove had the tube going all the way in. When John believed it was past the fungus of the esophagus, he taped it in place. After checking placement, he said, “You made this harder than it needed to be. This tube is staying in for the day. I’ll take it out tonight, but tomorrow it will be replaced if you don’t eat. Nod if you understand.”

Sherlock continued to ignore John. Grabbing Sherlock’s hair, John yanked it until the detective’s face was looking at him. “When I ask you a question, you will answer it or face the consequences. Now, do you understand?”

John used Sherlock’s hair to give a small nod. Smiling he let go and began whistling as he grabbed the end of the tube. “Eating the food that I prepared for you would be pleasanter than this, but as you refused to eat, you leave me no choice.” John poured in a can of tube feeding much faster than it should have been making Sherlock cough and his stomach ache.

Moving the table away, John pulled up a chair and spoke in a pleasant voice, almost as if they were sitting in 221B just discussing a case. “Now I’m going to explain how things are going to be from now on, and you’ll listen not to speak. Eating the food is much more appetizing than this, and I expect you to eat what I serve you. I’ll even make you that pea thing if you wish,” he giggled. “You and I will be spending a lot of time together. During that time, you will learn to do as I tell you immediately.”

John was interrupted by a huff from Sherlock.

Grabbing Sherlock’s jaw, John snapped, “I said you were to listen, not interrupt me. That is six, two from before breakfast for your rudeness, three for your refusal to eat, and one for interrupting me. If I were you, I wouldn’t push it anymore.

’ _That’s telling him, Johnny-boy. Teach him we are the boss, not him. Don’t let him get away with not listening to you.’_

John shook his head to clear the voice then continued cheerily. “Now, as I was saying, when you are addressing me, you will refer to me as sir. For now, when I release you, you will kneel when I’m in the room with you, unless I say otherwise. Later after you manage to get these rules down, we’ll add some more. I’ll let you have some time to think about your behavior. Later today, you’ll be punished for disobedience when I gave you orders. I suggest that you don’t add more to it.”

Sherlock laid on the bed all day, his jaw becoming sore from the gag, seeing John only for the two other meals that were silently given until evening. Even if he wanted to complain or protest the situation, the gag kept him from speaking when John was in the room. Thinking about what was happening, he wondered why he hadn’t notice John’s instability.

Grinning, John entered the room again later that evening. “Well, Sherlock, I’m going to remove the gag and tube. Hopefully, tomorrow you’ll be more reasonable, so I don’t have to replace either item.”

Once they were out, Sherlock said, “I have to use the bathroom.”

“Did you forget something? This is the last time I will tell you that when you address me, you call me sir. I’m not ready to allow you up until you learn how to be submissive,” John said, walking over to the table bringing back a tube and a lube package. He began to spread the lube over the tip of the tube.

“Can’t I use a urinal?” Sherlock asked, adding a sarcastic, “Sir.” 

“Guess we’ll have to work on that sir. As for the urinal, you haven’t earned the privilege yet. Now don’t move, or it will hurt going in.”

When the tip was in, Sherlock was angry enough that he did try to move away.

‘ _Don’t let him push you Johnny-boy, make him reg_ ret it.’

John yanked out the tube. “You always have to do everything the hard way. I promise you that you will learn who the master is here.” He then shoved it into place, causing Sherlock to cry out in pain. “Next time, listen.”

_‘Now, that’s my boy.’_

After the extra tubing was attached to Sherlock’s leg, John headed toward the top of the bed. He grabbed the chain attached to Sherlock’s hands and flipped the detective over before doing the same with his legs,

“I gave you a few orders, and you disobeyed all of them, including the urinal tube. Your behavior total came out to eight times you disobeyed me. Now, you will receive your punishment for those infractions.”

Grabbing a cane from the closet, he showed it to Sherlock. “I’m sorry that I must do this, but you will learn one way or another.” John swung the cane eight times, hitting across both cheeks and the area between Sherlock’s legs and cheeks, then cross the previous areas. 

Sherlock had bit his lip to prevent screaming. Blood was flowing down his chin when John turned around from placing the cane where Sherlock could see it. “Rule three: You are not allowed to hurt yourself. As I hadn’t given you that rule before, I won’t punish you for causing your lip to bleed. I’m going to turn you back over. Hopefully, laying on your bruised behind will help you remember the rules.” 

After flipping him back over, John turned off the light and called out, “Good night Sherlock.” When no answer was forthcoming, he growled, “I didn’t hear you.”

_‘Johnny-Boy, he’s testing you again.’_

John furiously barked at the dark corner. “I told you not to tell me what to do, so shut up.”

“Good night,” Sherlock answered when John started to walk angrily toward him,”…. Sir.”

John stopped, “That’s better. Next time, remember it.”

Walking into the apartment, John asked out loud, “Did I do alright?”

_‘You’re getting there, Johnny-boy. I’m proud of you_.’ Came the answer in his mind.

The madness was clear on John’s face. Although anxious, he was excited was for tomorrow to come. Sherlock would learn his place or face his ire and, in the end, would be his alone.

‘ _Don’t worry, Johnny-boy. I’ll be with you to guide you through creating a pet out of Sherlock_.’ Followed by wild sing-song laughter.


	5. “Me name is Shep.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft discovering that the men are missing. There is a clue.

Anthea looked at the wall where it was hit by the car. “Did the DI mention if he saw a car was parked in this alley before he was knocked out?”

“A blue Vauxhall Cavalier from the 1990’s he thinks. He only saw a glance of this before he was hit. I believe this is from the car that took Sherlock,” Ted, the head of the searching detail, pointed to the paint.

“It seems fresh. Whoever took Sherlock had to have a car parked near to avoid our cameras. They must have used the DI to distract Sherlock before knocking him out. What did we find about their missing phones?” Anthea asked as she looked over the site.

“Looks like someone stomped on them. Also, one of the men found this on the ground over there.” He handed her the syringe.

Smelling it, she handed it back to him. “Bag and label it. Take some scraping of the paint on that wall and let me know what else you find. I’m going back by Mr. Holmes. It won’t be long before he starts asking for his brother.” She shook her head. How was she ever going to tell Mycroft that not only his brother but also Dr. Watson were missing?

“If I get anything else, I’ll let you know. Have they found anything on the camera?”

“Not so far, but maybe we can try again now that we identified the suspected car. Thanks Ted, keep looking into it at this site. When I get back, I’ll hand over this information to our monitors.”

As Anthea headed back to the car, a homeless man approached her. “Lawd above! Hey, pretty lady, can you spare a penny for a hungry man.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m in a rush. Ted over there will give you something,” she looked at Ted and nodded.

“Blimey! If I tell you about them blokes that hit them two other blokes, may be worth a pound?”

“Ted please give me a couple of pounds, will you? You’ll get it back later,” Anthea said. After he handed it to her, she looked at the man. “You tell me what happened, and you can have two pounds.”

“Blimey! Me was sleeping under me blankets, an' heard noise. These two blokes hit da silver hair guy and down he went. Me was scared to come out. Then a bit later, me heard a guy hurrying down the alley, called a name, and then calling for an ambulance. Me heard a hit and saw this brown 'aired guy fall. They put him in the boot and took him away."

“Can you describe either man.”

“Maybe, but me am mighty hungry and having a hard time thinking straight.”

“Ted, take Mr.?”

“Me name is Shep.”

“Take Mr. Shep for some food, then get a sketch artist to attempt to make a drawing of what he saw. Let me know when you have something.”

“Sure thing, Anthea.”

Anthea arrived back at Mycroft’s room in time to see him pouting. As she opened the door, she heard him ask the nurse for Sherlock. Anthea motioned for her to leave as she entered the room. “How are you feeling sir?’

“Better, is my brother around?” A tired Mycroft asked.

“You know how he is. Probably still running around with the DI and lost track of time.”

Mycroft looked her over. Her stiffen stance, avoiding his eyes, and the uncharacteristic comment led him to ask, “Why are you lying to me?”

“Sir?” 

“You would never have answered that question like that unless you were attempting to change the subject. What is going on, and where is my brother?” Mycroft threw his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up, shaking as he did.

“Sir, you’re not well enough to get up yet,” Anthea hurried to his side in an attempt to get him to lay back down.

Mycroft, shaking and swaying becoming more pronounced. “I’m well enough to terminate you if you don’t answer my question this instant. Where is Sherlock Holmes?”

Giving in, Anthea said, “Please let me help you sit against the headboard, and I will explain what I know.”

Once he was back in bed, she said, “I called the DI phone when I couldn’t reach Sherlock and couldn’t reach him either. Next, I called the NSY, where Donovan answered the DI phone. She explained Sherlock had called to inform her that he found Lestrade unconscious in an alley. He told her that the DI had called him to come to the address. She stated as they were speaking, his phone went dead after someone said, ‘e's no' able to answer you mow.’ When I asked about the current status Sherlock’s abduction, she said it ‘The freak wasn’t a priority.’” 

Mycroft gritted his teeth, “When this is over, I think it’s time for Miss Donovan to be reassigned to one of the furthest posts to England. What have we done in the meantime?”

“While we were searching the area, Sherlock’s phone was located broken before a homeless man approached us. He had some information about the abduction. Right now, the man is in one of our rooms, eating and sleeping after helping us draw what he saw.”

As Anthea stopped for a breath, Mycroft glared at her. “What else has happened?”

Swallowing the PA said, “Doctor Watson has disappeared.” 

Mycroft sat up straight in the bed. The coldness in his voice frightened her, “And the man that was watching him?”

“He is on his way in sir. The rest of his team is going over the house right now. I also sent some of our best men up to assess. The first report states there was almost nothing in his food closets, yet he had a delivery earlier in the day. Also, most of his personal effects are missing. His car is still in the garage, but according to James, the team leader, there appears to have been a motorcycle there recently. Right now, they’re searching the area around the house, but don’t believe he is there.”

“Get me my robe.”

“But sir.”

“Now. I’m going to the control room here and taking over the search myself. I want to speak to the man who came forward, and when that agent who was supposed to be watching Dr. Watson gets here, put him in a holding cell until I get time to deal with him.”

“Yes sir,” Anthea knew there would be no changing his mind.

If the men in the control room were shocked to see Mycroft in a robe and slippers, no one dared to say anything. Mycroft sat at the control panel, watching the cameras that were set up to observe his men both at the abduction site and Dr. Watson’s resident.

“REPORT,” he demanded.

“We’ve taken paint samples, tire castings, and talked to the DI. Anthea had a homeless man brought to headquarters sir. We’re just about to question the neighbors to see if anyone observed anything.” Came the report from the abduction site.

“We’ve finished searching the house, and nothing further to report there except there are multiple pictures of the younger Mr. Holmes lining the bedroom walls. We are preparing to speak to the neighbors currently. Some of the team is searching the area at this time, sir.” Dr. Watson’s team reported.

“I want reports every 15 minutes,” Mycroft ordered.

Turning to Anthea and the man. “Mr. Shep, thank you for coming in. I understand you helped our artist draw pictures of the two men who kidnapped my brother. Is there anything else you can add?”

“I thought about it gov, jus' something 'the man said.”

“What was it?”

“’Da doc isn’' goin 'o like 'ha' you did 'ha,’” “Sorry gov, that's all me knows. Me really like Sheeze and wish me could help more.”

“Thank you, Mr. Shep.” Mycroft said then pointed to one of the men in the room, “See to it that Mr. Shep is giving a place to stay and food. I don’t want someone trying to take him out.” Mycroft ordered.

“Sir, I can keep a personal eye on things if you like to rest.” Anthea offered.

The scowl she received was all the answer she needed.


	6. 'Maybe you’re not the man I thought you were.’

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John starts to lose control of his mind and actions. His mind is starting to crumble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been home sick for the last week, so I had time to clean up this chapter and post it early. Two in Two days, hope you enjoy it.

Waking in pain from the caning, Sherlock found himself still in the dark. Looking around, he noticed there was a very small opening in the wall that must lead to the outside for air to enter the room. “Mycroft is looking for me,” he thought, “It might come in handy if his men come near here. I can yell for them. But for now, I need to try to get out of here by myself.”

Straining to escape the restraints again, his wrist and ankles began to bleed. He knew that he was breaking John’s third rule, hurting himself, but he was determined to keep trying to escape no matter what the doctor would do when he came back.

From his side of the apartment, John watched the feed from the cameras he had around Sherlock’s room as the detective struggled to free himself. He started to feel sorry for his ex-flatmate and thought about releasing him at least one extremity at a time.

‘ _Getting soft on me, Johnny-boy. Did you forget he agreed with his brother to exile you?_ ’

John started to argue loudly with himself. “He had been ill and still under his influence when he agreed with Mycroft. Surely he wouldn’t have exiled me if he wasn’t.”

_‘Is that what you believe Johnny-boy? Did you forget Sherlock chose his brother to sleep with instead of you?’_

“He made a mistake when he chose Mycroft. I know he doesn’t love his brother but me.” Wild evil laughter rang out in his mind in answer to his statement.

John ignored the voice in his head and proceeded to the cell with his prisoner’s breakfast. Opening the door, he saw Sherlock turn his head toward the wall. “Come on, Sherlock. Don’t be like that. I made your eggs the way you like them.”

“Not hungry.”

John’s temper started to rise, but he bit it back. “I’m going to empty your urine bag first. You’ll feel more like eating without the contents of the bag in your sight.”

Turning toward John. “Then why not just let me go into the bathroom,” Sherlock's voice indicated he was unhappy.

With a grin, “Come on,” a laugh was heard, “We both know you would use the opportunity to escape.” John finished emptying the bag. “Now, time to eat.”

“I don’t want your food or you in general. Let me go, and maybe Mycroft will let you live.” Sherlock declared, turning his face back toward the wall.

“Sherlock, I don’t want to force-feed you again. Now stop pouting and turn around.” Once more, John heard mocking laughter.

‘ _He’s not listening to you Johnny-boy. Maybe you’re not the man I thought you were.’_

“I said I’m not hungry. Go away.” Sherlock shouted back.

Throwing the tray against the wall in anger, John stomped to the bed, picking up the spider gag on the way. When he reached Sherlock, he grabbed the detective’s hair and twisted his fingers in it until tears came into Sherlock’s eyes and caused enough pain to compel him to open his mouth.

John shoved the spider gag into Sherlock’s mouth before forcing the tube back down his throat. “You’ll learn one way or another that when I tell you to do something, you do it without delay. Not only did you refuse an instruction, but you didn’t address me as ordered. And don’t think I didn’t see the blood on your wrist from trying to get out of your restraints. Now I’m going to clean them to ensure that you don’t get an infection.” 

‘ _Make it hurt. Make me proud pet_.’

“I’m not your pet,” John grumbled as he grabbed a bottle of medical alcohol. Seizing the chains on Sherlock’s wrist, he poured the alcohol over them, causing Sherlock to pull them away from the pain. Setting the bottle on the table, he grabbed the tube feeding. “You need nutrition, and I intend to see you get it,” then he poured the can of liquid down the tube as fast as possible. Sherlock groaned as it entered his stomach too quickly.

“Next time, eat,” John yelled. “Then you won’t get stomach cramps.

John grabbed the detective’s restrained legs by the chains pulling them off the bed and connected the restraints to a hook on the ground. Next, John grasped the chains holding Sherlock’s arms and began to pull him to the floor. Sherlock started to fight him only to get a fist to his ear. While trying to get his senses back, John pulled his arms tightly out in front of him, causing Sherlock to be in a kneeling position with his head tight on the ground. 

‘ _You did a good job with those chains, Johnny-boy. Now make him pay. Think about all the times he rejected you for his brother.’_

Sherlock stopped struggling and listened, as he heard John mumble, “Don’t tell me what to do, I will make him love me in my own way.” 

The spider gag stopped Sherlock from speaking as he wondered who John was talking to, but he tried anyway. “wfhisk;kj;lk.” Giving up when nothing sensible came out.

“Trying to apologize for your actions,” John thought as he headed toward the storage cabinet, “It’s too late for that now. You always used a riding crop to know how bad flesh bruised after death. Now I’m going to show you what happens when you use one on living flesh.” With that, John began to whip Sherlock across his back and already bruised buttock. 

Sherlock attempted to stay quiet as long as he could while trying to move out of the way. However, the restraints were too tight to allow him to move at all. By the time John's arm gave out, tears were running down Sherlock’s face. His back had welts, many of which were bleeding freely. Those not bleeding were already turning purple. 

John replaced Sherlock on the bed with his arm and feet chained as before. Pulling the gag and tube out, he glared at Sherlock, “I hope you are beginning to get the point. You are mine to do with what I want.”

_‘That’s it Johnny-boy.’_

“Shut up,” John yelled at a place in the corner. “And you, Mr. Consulting Detective, you always brag about your superior mind. Perhaps you can use it to understand it’s time to do what I want before I have to go further.” 

Then angrily leaving the room, he missed, a painful “Never.”

During the night, Sherlock felt his stomach begin to bubble. Knowing John had cameras in the room, he called out, “John, I need to go to the bathroom.” He called numerous times without receiving an answer, and he attempted to hold his bowels. Before too long, the tube feeding caused the stool to come watery and quickly. Within a few minutes, his bed was covered in the stool along with his back and legs.


	7. ‘Don’t go soft on me, Johnny-boy'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John attempts to make Sherlock his, though torture.

'TORTURE WARNING"

John watched the detective soil himself. Surely the proud man would change his mind about doing as John wanted, especially after the next step that he had planned to use to humiliate Sherlock. He hated that he needed to do these things to the detective, but he needed to break him down to make him his. He looked over his uncomfortable best friend, wondering if maybe he was going too far.

‘ _Don’t go soft on me, Johnny-boy_. _He’s not your friend anymore_.’

“Your wrong.” He is my friend John argued with the voice in his mind.

‘ _Then why did he banish you_.’

“His brother did, not him.”

‘ _If you say so._ ’

“I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to get me to hate him.” John shouted at the corner where he was sure Moriarty stood. 

‘ _I thought you said I was_ _dead.’_

 _“_ You’re confusing me. Go away.” The mist seemed to clear. John looked at the screen to see Sherlock again. “You’re still my best friend, aren’t you? No matter what Moriarty says.”

‘ _Well, go-ahead Johnny boy. If he’s still your friend, release him.’_

“If I let him free, he’ll leave me.”

 _‘Then make up your mind. Either show him who’s boss or release him. If you plan on keeping him, then he needs to learn a lesson about respecting you_.’

“I’ll show you and him who is in charge. Just you watch and see.” John shouted as he angrily headed toward the cell.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was getting very cold, especially where the stool was cooling against his skin. He had called John, but the doctor wasn’t answering him. The chains were cutting into his skin, and his throat was hurting. And most concerning was it seemed that John was going insane.

The sound of John’s heavy footsteps pushing the door open, cause Sherlock to turn toward the door. “What is that smell? Sherlock, did you shit yourself?”

“I tried to call you. I know you have cameras that allow you to watch and hear me, so don’t pretend that you don’t know what happened. Actually, you probably watched it,” Sherlock accused him.

“You have been instructed on how to address me if you want my attention. I never heard you call me properly. This mess is your fault, and you’ll clean it up.”

“And how do you expect me to do that, chained up like an animal,” Sherlock demanded not able to hold his tongue.

“Watch your mouth and attitude. You’re my best friend, and I don’t want to punish you, but if that’s the only way you will learn, I will.”

Sherlock’s anger got the best of him, and he yelled. “You’ll do it anyway. You’re going insane. Best friend, you’re not even someone I want to be around.”

John grabbed a cattle prod from the cabinet and pressed it again Sherlock’s stomach causing the detective to cry out in surprise. “I’m going to undo your right leg and left arm before you kneel at the side of the bed and clean it up. You will scrub the bed and yourself. If you try anything, you will see just how creative I can get to make you do what I want.”

John filled a bucket of cold water and undid the chains but kept them attached to Sherlock’s extremities. “Get out of bed and on your knees.”

Sherlock tried to move but found it difficult with the stiffness and pain throughout his body. “Move it,” John ordered, yanking him by the loose chains toward the edge of the bed.

Gritting his teeth, Sherlock managed to fall on his knees. John surprised Sherlock by pushing him headfirst over the bed. “I will be your only lover from now on,” John said as he shoved an extra-large butt plug into him, without any preparation, causing a moan of pain from Sherlock. “I’ll show you what a real man is like. This will help prepare you for me later on when I make love to you. Besides, I’m sure it’s something you’re used to. I can’t imagine your brother would bottom for you. Now get your mess cleaned up.”

John placed the bucket filled with ice-cold water next to him and handed him a sponge. “Make this bed spotless.” 

A flash caused Sherlock to turn around. “What the bloody hell was that?” As another shock had him groaning in pain. 

“Making an album for your brother. Now get busy before I make you sleep in your mess.”

John pulled over a chair sitting just out of Sherlock’s reach. Every time Sherlock slowed down due to pain John shocked him with the cattle prod.

When the bed was clean, John removed the bucket emptying it, then rinsing and refilling it with more ice-cold water. Once reaching Sherlock, he poured the freezing water over him and threw a sponge at him. “Clean yourself up. You smell like a sewer.” Sherlock cleaned his legs and back as best as he could. John got frustrated with his slow movements, grabbed the sponge and rubbed hard over the welts and sores from the previous beating. “Now that’s clean.” He proclaimed as he poured another ice-cold bucket of water over him.

Once done, John ordered him to lay back on his stomach. He used the cattle prod to hurry him along. Sherlock managed to stand up and attempted to grab the prod away from John, but the doctor moved back, not only shocking him multiple times with it but then used it to beat Sherlock. Holding it against the detective’s stomach, “You try something like that again, and I’ll beat you until you are unable to stand much less walk. Do you understand me?”

Placing the prod against Sherlock’s back until he finally screamed, John ordered him to get on the bed again. Crawling up slowly, he managed to fall unto the bed letting out a moan of pain. When Sherlock was on the bed, John used his knee to hold him down on his stomach as he chained each extremity. 

“You didn’t thank me for allowing you to clean the bed and your body. I expect you to do that properly now.”

Sherlock ignored the order tightening his body against the coming punishment. John didn’t disappoint him. The prod pressed against both his feet, staying there until Sherlock choked out, “Thank you.”

Moving the prod back to the detective's feet, “That is not how you thank me, now do it correctly.”

Knowing the pain would get worse, he said, “Thank you for allowing me to have a clean bed and body,” then gritting his teeth, “sir.” A singsong laugh came from John. It sounded just like Jim Moriarty’s _._

_‘He is pushing you Johnny-boy. Are you going to let him do that?’_

“I told you to shut up. I’m in charge here. He will learn, and I’ll make him love me yet.” John yelled into the corner of the cell. Going to the cabinet, he rummaged around before pulling out a paddle with holes in it. 

Sherlock watched John as he argued with himself and his concern increased as the signs of insanity amplified. Afraid that John would lose any restraint he was still holding on to. ‘Mycroft hurry up.’ He thought.

“Do you know what this is?” John asked, putting it in Sherlock’s face. 

“Why? Don’t you?” Sherlock said before he could stop himself.

John brought it down on the detective’s buttock and legs until the area was beet red and blistering. Shaking his arm as it had become sore, “You will respect me when you speak to me. Now, to make sure you don’t make another disaster. If you behave like a baby and make a mess of yourself, I’ll treat you like an infant. Until you learn to keep yourself clean, you can wear one of these.” 

Holding up a depends, he hummed. “Maybe I should let Donovan and Anderson see you like that. What do you think?” When Sherlock didn’t answer him, he roughly shoved the depends under Sherlock’s stomach, causing some of the burns to bleed but John ignored the damage. 

Picking up the paddle, he slapped him repeatedly on the bottom of his feet. “You will not attempt to escape again. Once your brother sees what you look like, he won’t want you anymore. I’ll be the only one who wants someone like you.”

Another flash from John’s phone caught the detective’s attention. “It’s just another picture for your brother to see what a slut you are. You don’t need this anymore with the depends on,” John started to deflate the foley only for Sherlock to attempt to move away from him causing the undeflated balloon to pull out and Sherlock’s penis to begin to bleed. “I told you not to move. Once more, it’s your fault your injured.” Then he placed the depends over the detective's buttock taping it shut. “We wouldn’t want you to lose the plug or soil yourself or my bed again.”

“ _Oh, what a cute little Shelly_ ,” came out of John's mouth, surprising both the doctor and the detective. Clearing his throat, John mumbled, “Shut up, I’m in charge here.”

“Who else is here.?” Sherlock asked.

Bringing the paddle down across Sherlock’s back, “Shut up, unless I ask you a question you do not speak.” John pulled out his phone and took more pictures of Sherlock. “Something else for your brother’s photo album.”

‘ _I like your thinking, pet_.’

“I told you I’m not your pet. I set this up and will make him mine. By the time I’m done, the only pet around here will be him.” John boasted as he walked toward the door. 

Deciding to get some fresh air, he climbed the cellar’s stairs. Finding it was dark outside, John uncovered his cycle and sped off to get the pictures developed and sent to Mycroft in a maildrop miles away. 

Sherlock attempted to pull at the restraints even though he knew it was hopeless. “Mycroft, I need you, please get here quickly.” He called out before falling asleep from exhaustion.


	8. Stop Wallowing In Pity.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is looking for Sherlock while fighting Pneumonia. Anthea takes a step to move the search along, and Greg comes up with a clue.

“He’s getting worse,” the chief on duty told Anthea. “Mycroft needs a hospital, not the war center. Can’t you talk to him?”

“We both know he won’t move until he locates and rescues his brother. The only other way to get him out of here is for him to keel over. He’s much too stubborn to pass out, so I suggest we find Sherlock before he dies at the control panel.” Anthea told the Chief. “Just keep a good eye on him, and I’ll see if I can’t at lease get him to let the doctor check him over.”

After arranging for his doctor to meet them upstairs, Anthea approach Mycroft, who was getting another report from the field behind the doctor’s house. “Sir.”

“NO. I’m not leaving.” A coughing spell had him bending over.

“I know that you won’t go home, but can we at least have a doctor look you over and give you some medication?”

Mycroft turned from the monitor and stared at her. “Is this a way to slip me something to knock me out?”

“Although I hadn’t thought of that, I would like it if you would at least rest but will be satisfied if you allow the doctor to examine you.”

Thinking it over, Mycroft stood. Hanging on to the console, he headed toward the upstairs room. Another coughing spell had him holding on to the wall as he followed her out. Before he left the room, he ordered, “Notify me immediately if anything, and I do mean no matter how small, happens.”

After Mycroft’s doctor checked him over, he looked at the patient. “You do know that you not only should be resting but resting in a hospital bed. Your lungs are full of fluid in your air sacs or better known as Pneumonia. What are you trying to do, Mycroft, kill yourself? You need oxygen and IV antibiotics.”

“The MI5 clinic has portable oxygen tanks, and I’m sure someone can come down to place an IV and start I need.” Coughing has him stopping to catch his breath. “I’m not going to rest until Sherlock is safely back.” Mycroft stood up and headed toward the door.

“Where do you think you’re going, Mycroft. My patients usually don’t walk out on me when I’m speaking to them.” The doctor informed him.

“You can do everything downstairs that you can do here. I intend to search for my brother. Consider yourself lucky I’m not in the field.” 

Both men stared at the other, not willing to give an inch when a knock on the door interrupted them. Anthea opened it and was handed an envelope for Mr. Holmes. Nodding, she dismissed the messenger before heading toward Mycroft.

Taking the envelope, he looked up at Anthea. “See the doctor out, my dear.” Once the doctor left, he opened the envelope. Photos fell into his hands. Looking at them, he paled and almost fell. Anthea took his arm, leading him to a chair then giving him a minute to catch his breath. “Sir?”

Mycroft handed the pictures to the PA. 

“She glanced at the pictures and let out a, “Oh my God.” Before sitting down beside him.

As she looked at the pictures, she could clearly see the chains binding Sherlock to the bed. Even the sores starting around the restraints were clear. His back was covered with fresh blood. What wasn’t covered in blood was purple with welts. Also, a huge butt plug was showing in Sherlock’s anus with evidence of blood around it in one of the pictures.

Others showed a stool covered Sherlock kneeling on a cement floor that was covered in stool and water. Although not sure what had caused it, burns could be seen covering parts of his body, including his bare feet, many looking to be 2nd and 3rd degree. And finally, the diaper, the humiliation that Sherlock had to be suffering knowing that his brother was seeing him like this.

“My god, that was yesterday. What has that monster done to him today?” Mycroft glanced at the pictures, “What if I can’t find him in time?”

Anthea knew this was not the Mycroft that she knew talking but Sherlock’s brother. If anyone could find Sherlock in time, it was Mycroft. Standing, she placed her hands on her hips and stared at him.

“You want to save him, then stop wallowing in pity.” She ordered.

“How dare you?” Mycroft stood, staring back at her. “You are my employee, not my mother or boss.”

“Then start acting like the boss,” She opened the door and whispered to the guard outside it. Returning to Mycroft, “You are the Ice-Man, Antarctica, you are Mycroft Holmes.” A knock interrupted her, “Enter.” 

The guard brought Mycroft a fresh three-piece suit and handed it to him. “Put on your battle gear and show the men in the other room who you are,” Anthea instructed him.

Mycroft looked from Anthea to the guard before waving the man away. Once the door was closed, he turned to his PA. “You have a lot of guts. I’ll give you that. Help me get dressed. And Anthea, if you ever talk to me that way again, you’re fired.”

“Yes sir,” she smiled at him. 

Once dressed, there was another knock at the door, “Now what?” Mycroft demanded with a cough.

“Sir, a Detective Inspector Lestrade would like to see you. And the doctor asked me to give you this medication.”

“Send him in,” Mycroft ordered as he placed the pictures back into the envelope, and Anthea poured out the medication, handing it to him to take. When Greg walked in, “And what can I do for you Detective Inspector?” A hint of anger in his voice was interrupted by coughing.

A concerned Greg looked around. “Mycroft, have you heard anything about Sherlock? I want to help in any way that I can.”

“That’s strange. When Anthea asked for your division's help, she was informed that Sherlock Holmes was not a priority. Has something changed in the meantime?” Mycroft said bitterly.

Insulted, Greg shot back, “That’s not fair. You know I don’t operate like that Mycroft!”

“Then maybe it’s time that your department takes steps to remove the members of it that do act as such. Miss Donovan, left no doubt that looking into Sherlock’s disappearance wasn’t something she was interested in.”

When Greg said nothing, Mycroft continued. “I think it’s only fair that I inform you that when we find my brother, I intend to see to it that her assignment changes to a remote outpost. This is what Sherlock is enduring, so there’s no time to waste.” 

Greg nodded his understanding then looked at the pictures handed to him. The look of shock had him covering his eyes.

As they headed toward the room, Mycroft could feel the medication controlling his cough. “Let’s move along. We have work to do to save Sherlock.” 

The three walked into the operation room. One look at Mycroft had the men and women there understanding that the Ice Man was back. “Anything yet?” Mycroft demanded.

“They have expanded the search area, sir, but there are so many backwoods places to hide that it’s hard to narrow the space down.”

Greg walked around the center, looking at the cameras and papers on the counter. “Who’s this?” he asked, noticing the sketching.

The operator looked toward Mycroft for permission. When Mycroft nodded, “That’s one of the men a witness saw taking Sherlock.”

Looking at Anthea, “May I call my office?”

“What do you have?” Mycroft anxiously asked.

Greg explained. “I believe this is one of the men on a report I received this morning of a car and bodies in a lake up in a northern county.”

After having one of the officers from the NSY fax the report from his desk, Mycroft, Anthea, and Greg examined it. “That’s the car and one of our kidnappers. You said they found the car east of Dr. Watson’s house?” Mycroft clarified.

Looking at the map, Greg pointed out the area. “Usually, no one goes there as it is off-limits due to chemicals in the water, but some kids who were looking around found the car.”

Mycroft closed his eyes, although not as good as his brother, he was able to pull up everything he knew of the area. It was blocked out when he saw Sherlock as he was twisting and turning in bed instead. “He kidnaps me, keeping me in a dark, damp place while he tortures me.’ Then a few days later saying, ‘It an old bomb shelter that was abandoned and forgotten.’

Opening his eyes, he ordered. “Find all abandoned bomb shelters in the area. Check out the area around the lake. Dr. Watson couldn’t have gone far from where he ditched the car and having to walk home.” 

The activity in the center increased as they searched the area for Sherlock.

In the busy room, it became silent when one of the men yelled out, “Sir, we found it.”


	9. ‘Now what Johnny-boy?'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and 'mind' Moriarty fight over Sherlock and how John is going about making him his. Sherlock is the one who pays for these disagreements.

TRIGGER WARNING: RAPE

John watched Sherlock suffer from his bedroom. He fantasized that Sherlock was moaning in pleasure, not in pain. When he makes Sherlock his, he will teach the detective what was expected of him and how it was to be done. Grinning, he thought of Sherlock becoming the perfect pet.

 _‘Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you Johnny-boy?’_

“What do you mean? He’s getting where I want him.”

_‘One sir and you think you’re breaking him. You're failing and doing it miserably.’_ A sing-song laugh followed.

Pulling his hair, John screamed, “Stop it, just stop it. I’ll make him do what I want, just you watch and see.”

_‘I see nothing. You are fooling yourself. Sherlock is still refusing you. You’ll never show him you’re the boss.’_

Grabbing his belt, he headed toward the cell. “I’ll show him and you who’s the boss.” Pushing the door open, so it slammed into the wall, he rushed into the room. 

Sherlock turned, "What do you want now?” Seeing the belt, “Still trying to beat love for you into me. Serbia didn’t break me, and they were much better at torture than you are.”

John brought the belt down across Sherlock’s back, causing a yelp. The sound of it caused John’s blood to boil. He’d show Moriarty that he could do it. No one would tell him what to do again. Blindly he continued to hit Sherlock.

It wasn’t until John became aware of his surroundings once more that he saw the bloody mess of Sherlock’s back. “Oh my god, what have I done?” he cried. Running from the cell, he headed toward the liquor cabinet. Grabbing the first bottle, he took a drink straight from it and continued to drink until the bottle was empty then retrieved a second one.

It was late at night when a drunken John fell asleep in his chair, leaving Sherlock shaking with pain and cold locked in a bed with no escape. Fighting to stay conscious, Sherlock finally gave up, allowing the darkness to take him.

Waking later in the wee hours of the morning, John looked at the screen in front of him. Sherlock was shaking with cold and moaning. “What have I done?” John repeated as he grabbed the screen. “I could have killed the man I love.” 

John jumped up, pulling his hair. “What am I going to do? Sherlock will never forgive me now. I just wanted him to love me as much as I love him.” 

Gathering a bucket of hot water, sponges, soft towels, and some antiseptic, he headed toward the cell. _‘What are you doing, Johnny-boy?’_

John stopped. “Shut up. I love him and want his love, but you made me hurt him. You want to injure him because he defeated you. Listening to you was the worst thing I ever did.”

_‘Oh, so you’re blaming me, Johnny-boy. Did you forget I’m you? What do you truly want? I think you’re going crazy, or maybe you always have been.’_

“You made me do it, now go away,” John yelled as he opened the door to Sherlock’s prison.

Kneeling by the cot, he began to wipe the blood gently off Sherlock’s back. Even the lightest of touches cause moans of pain. As he washed Sherlock’s back, John felt the heat rising from the wounds. Nearing the bottom of the back, he moved the depends where the large butt plug was visibly covered with weeping blood. Carefully pulling it out, a scream echoed through the room.

“It’s okay, Sherlock. I’m here. Just relax and let me finish taking care of you.”

Many places on the back continued to bleed no matter how much he wiped the blood away. The doctor in John wanted to protect Sherlock from an infection, so he poured the antiseptic over the detective’s back and into his anus. “Oh, please forgive me. I love you so much.” He replaced the depends on preventing the blood from seeping onto the bed.

Rushing to his apartment to retrieve dressings for Sherlock’s bleeding back, he was stopped when he heard from Moriarty. _‘Now what Johnny-boy? Are you going to let your guilt stop you from keeping Sherlock? Or maybe you’re going to call Mycroft to come to get him, and you’ll never see Sherlock again? Do you think Sherlock will forgive you?’_

“Leave me alone. I love him and know he loves me,” determine John grabbed dressings and headed back to Sherlock. Although dressing his back, he never thought about the stitches that some of the wounds needed.

Once the detective’s back was covered, John unchained his legs and began to rub the circulation back into them. The whimpers of pain had John gently exercising them. John loosened the arm chains, not removing them completely just enough to tenderly turned Sherlock from his front to his back. “Wake up love,” he pleaded.

As he went to unchain the detective’s arms, John saw Sherlock’s head was turned outwards with his lips partially opened and stopped at the sight. The detective seemed to be having a difficult time breathing through his nose and had his mouth slightly open to help.

John stared at Sherlock’s lips, beginning to run his tongue over his own. Slowly he lowered his mouth and gently ran his tongue over Sherlock’s. Tenderly picking up Sherlock’s lower lip with his teeth, he bit it lightly. A movement of the detective’s head had John dropping it and moving back.

When Sherlock didn’t wake up, John smiled and once more picked up the lower lip. Seeing the tip of his tongue, John licked it with his own, causing the detective’s tongue to disappear into his mouth quickly.

Waiting a few more minutes until Sherlock open his mouth to breathe easier, John slipped his tongue into the detective’s mouth and ran his tongue around Sherlock’s mouth. Almost climbing on top of Sherlock, John started to suck and bite the detective’s tongue. Moving his tongue out of the detective's mouth, John ran his tongue over Sherlock’s neck and down his chest. 

Forgetting what he had already done to his flatmate, he became more aggressive. Running his hands and mouth over Sherlock’s body, he caused the detective to moan out in pain, moving away. To stop the detective from shifting, John laid over his body. “Mine, all mine. I’ll never leave you go.”

John continued to move his hands and tongue until he reached the depends and stopped to undo the tapes.

He began to kiss and lick in addition to little bites around Sherlock’s penis and thighs. Suddenly a knee hit John in the face. “Get off of me, you piece of garbage.”

The anger in the words stopped John in his tracks. He glanced up to see Sherlock looking back at him. “I’ll never love you. You’re insane talking like Moriarty. He was more of a man than you could ever be. Now get off me.”

_‘He’s got you there, Johnny-boy. You’ll never make him love you.’_

John climbed off Sherlock with rage etched on his face. “I’m more than Moriarty ever was. If I can’t have your love, then I’ll have your obedience. You will be mine one way or another.”

Grabbing each leg, he chained them back onto hooks in the ceiling, causing each leg to open, exposing Sherlock’s anus. 

“What are you doing, John?” Sherlock tried to get the doctor’s attention.

“I told you many times, its sir to you. But to answer your question, if you won’t give me what I want voluntarily, I will take it.” 

Without preparation or caring that Sherlock was bleeding from the anus., John lined his hard penis and shoved it in causing Sherlock to cry out in pain. 

“So tight. I knew you wanted me,” John uttered, “Mine, all mine.: He then grabbed Sherlock’s hips with an iron grip causing bruises to form immediately. Not waiting for Sherlock to be comfortable, he began thrusting vigorously. Bending over, he kissed and bit all over the detective’s chest. Speeding up, John started to moan and call Sherlock his repeatedly.

Finishing, he fell on the detective. “You’re so wonderful. It was just like I always imagine.”

Seeing tears running down Sherlock’s face, John’s voice came with an Irish tone. ‘ _I know. Your tears are of happiness, don’t worry darling once I rest, I’ll be back to love you_ further.’ 

After lowering the detective’s chained legs, Sherlock watched John leave. Something had changed when he was raping Sherlock. The man who left wasn’t the John he knew, and he doubted that John’s mind was still present. Mycroft needed to come soon, or Sherlock wasn’t sure he would survive the way John’s mind kept changing or his love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go, and Mycroft is on his way--but will he be on time.


	10. The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescued, hospitalized, and a visit.

Later that evening, John entered the cell again. “Darling, I hope you didn’t miss me.” He used the chains to lift Sherlock's legs once more, exposing the detective. Bending toward him, he kissed his cock while running his hand over it. “You’re ready for me. I knew you couldn’t wait.”

“John, please don’t do this. It’s not what I want,” Sherlock begged.

“Shh love. I know you’re nervous, but I’ll make it good for you.” Using the lube this time to get himself ready but not preparing Sherlock, he started to move toward the detective.

Silently, a few of Mycroft’s men made their way into the basement. Surprised to find it empty, they signaled to the rest of the team to enter. Mycroft with Greg and Anthea joined them. Looking around, Mycroft saw the screen that focused on Sherlock’s cell. Heading toward it, his eyes enlarged as he saw John kneeling behind Sherlock’s raised legs.

Rushing toward the door, before anyone could stop him, Mycroft tore it open and dashed towards the doctor. Grabbing him by his collar, he threw him onto the floor. Pulling his gun, he ordered, “Don’t move or I’ll blow your head off.” Then advanced toward John, placing the pistol next to his head. “I warned you, if you ever touch Sherlock again, you will pay.”

Greg proceeded to Mycroft, “Your brother needs you. I’ll deal with Dr. Watson.” He held his hand out for the gun.

Looking from the doctor to his brother, he gave the gun to Greg. Standing next to the cot Sherlock was restrained on, Mycroft removed Sherlock’s legs from the ceiling hooks, then commanded, “The key.”

Anthea removed the chain holding the key from the doctor’s neck, handing it to Mycroft. “Take the doctor out of here, and make sure he is securely contained,” she ordered.

Gently Mycroft undid his brother’s arms and legs. Then knelt to start removing the restraints seeing the sores under them. As he moved Sherlock’s arms and legs to a more comfortable position, his brother moaned. “Sherlock, you’re safe. We have you now,” Mycroft assured him.

Slowly Sherlock turned his head toward his brother, “Mycie?”

“Hello, little brother, let me finish removing these chains,” as Mycroft did, he began to cough, unable to stop or catch his breath.

“Get some gurneys in here now,” Anthea called, kneeling next to Mycroft, loosening his collar and handing him a drink of water. “Neither of these men will be walking out of here.”

“Mycie! what’s wrong with my brother?” Sherlock demanded as the rescuers began to remove the doctor. Although exhausted, he attempted to move closer to his brother but found any movement was painful. “What is wrong with him?” Sherlock repeated as he laid back down.

“He was very sick when you were taken and hasn’t rested since your kidnapping,” Anthea explained. “So, I’m sending him to the hospital where he promised to go after you were free.” Then she gave him her no-nonsense look, “Along with you.”

“But I….” Sherlock started, but the threatening look he received from Anthea stopped him.

\-------------------------------------

Sherlock and Mycroft were separated upon entering the hospital. The doctors were concerned that Mycroft’s infection could cause Sherlock’s injuries to be more infected than some of them already were. 

“But I want him in here,” Sherlock whined. “Are you not telling me something?”

Anthea rubbed her nose. Sherlock had been demanding to see Mycroft since they had come in. The doctor had assured both brothers that after 24 hours, they could share a room, but Sherlock’s patience was running low.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes stop acting like a two-year-old before I have the doctor knock you out until Mycroft is cleared to join you. You may not get out of bed to see him with the burns on your feet as they need to heal. He can’t come in here as he might cause your infections to worsen due to his Pneumonia. You can wait 24 hours, either awake and cooperating or knocked out, make up your mind.”

“You’re mean,” he pouted.

“And you’re a brat, now rest,” she ordered.

Turning over, he huffed, “Meany.”

Smiling, Anthea sat next to him until Sherlock soft breathing could be heard. After he was out, she headed toward Mycroft’s room. 

Putting on a mask, she entered to see Mycroft working on his laptop. “That’s not resting, sir.”

Closing the laptop, he looked up at her. “England doesn’t care if I’m ill or not. Elizabeth has been emailing me constantly with problems. How is Sherlock doing?”

“He is whining and complaining. Demanding to see you, and now pouting.” She said.

Mycroft smiled, “Normal then.”

“Yes, if the doctor didn’t insist that he not walk on his burnt feet, he would be sneaking in here.”

“How are his wounds?” Mycroft worried.

“All stitched up and bandaged. It’s kind of cute that he loves you so much and is worried.” Anthea said

Mycroft laughed, “Don’t let him hear you call him cute, but you’re right. He is cute. Thank you for agreeing to watch him tonight. I know he’d try to sneak out and come in here if not. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.”

“I better get back to him now, and you get some rest. I have work to keep me busy.” Grabbing his laptop, she headed out the door, “Just so you rest.” She said to his Hey. ”Sleep well sir.”

The next day Sherlock was sitting up waiting for his brother to be transferred to his room instead of resting. “It’s not going to happen faster if you continue to watch the door. Now lay back down and rest,” Anthea informed him.

“But you said today,” Sherlock whined.

“No, I said 24 hours, and you have two more hours before they are up. Then they need to clear him. He will be here as soon as they do, so lay down and rest or better yet sleep, and he’ll be here before you know it.”

Pouting again, he laid down, “Not tired.” But within a few minutes, he was snoring. He slept through his brother’s bed being brought in, and everything was set up. 

Opening his eyes, Sherlock saw Anthea still sitting by his side. “How much longer?” He moaned again.

“Turn over,” she said.

Seeing his brother, Sherlock began to get out of bed, “No you don’t, Lock. Stay right there.”

“But…”

“No, buts,” Mycroft ordered. “The doctor said you weren’t to get up until the end of the week. Due to the burns on your feet, infections in some of the wounds on your back, and other problems, you’ll probably need to stay here for two weeks. Also, you need to rest and won’t be running after criminals for a while after your released.”

“I don’t want to stay if you aren’t,” Sherlock complained, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’ll visit every day, but dear, I do need to get back to work. I’ve been absent too long.”

“But I need you,” the pout on Sherlock's face and his puppy dog eyes had Mycroft laughing.

“Lock, I love you, but that’s not going to work on me. I need to get back to work, and you need to heal.”

Sounding like he was being abandoned, “I don’t want too.”

“I’d rather you be with me, but we both know you need this. If you are good, I’ll ask the inspector to bring you cold cases, and I’ll find what I have around. Now please just get well so we can be together?” 

“Will you come every day? And maybe eat supper with me?” he sulked.

“I’ll even bring you whatever you want if you do as the doctor asked. Maybe if I don’t have an early meeting, I’ll even stay the night,” Mycroft bargained.

\--------------

The next month was difficult for Sherlock, but between Mycroft and Greg, he managed to follow the doctor’s orders almost to a tee. However, as he became bored with recuperating after being released, he began to become concerned about what Mycroft had done with John.

Then one night as they laid in each other’s arms. “Mycroft.”

“Yes Lock.”

“I would like to see John. Make sure he’s okay.”

“That might not be a good idea. He’s not the man you knew.”

“I know, but I feel I need to try. Please.” 

Mycroft knew that a please coming from his brother was rare.

“I’ll take you tomorrow. Now rest, darling.”

The brothers observed the room that John was confined in before entering. A sad look came into Sherlock’s eyes. “Let me talk to him alone.”

Mycroft hugged his brother, “You do know that the doctors who have examined him said that he’s too far gone.”

“I have to try. He was my only friend for so long,”

“I’ll be here waiting for you,” Mycroft gave his brother a small kiss. “Be careful.”

Walking into the room, Sherlock said in a soft voice, “Hello, John.” 

John looked at Sherlock, a sing-song voice answered, _“Really, Sherly. Your little pet isn’t here, only me. Don’t you want to talk to me?”_

“No, I just wanted to say hello to my best friend.”

“ _Well, he’s not here. I don’t want to talk to you unless you want to admit, it’s me you want, not that busybody of a brother who is watching us from the next room.”_

_“Can’t I speak to John for a minute to tell him I’m sorry.”_

_“You can just leave, and if you visit again, use my right name or don’t even bother to come. Get out of here now.”_

Sherlock left the room, falling into Mycroft’s arms, “Poor, John.”

Mycroft whispered in his ear, holding him tightly. “I’m sorry little brother.”

“I did it to him, didn’t I?”

Mycroft guided him from the building. “No, he was always a little off. He just can’t face reality, so he took on someone else’s personality who was confident.”

“I guess you’re right, but he was my friend, and I miss him. Mycroft, take me home, I’m so tired.” Sherlock leaned into his brother.

“Come on, my dear. Your doctor won’t be happy you disobeyed his orders and took this little trip. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Sherlock smiled up at him, “You’ll join me? I’m sure there is a little exercise the doctor would approve of.”

A broad smile appeared on Mycroft’s face, “Darling, I’m sure we can find something. Let’s go home now.” 

As the two men left, in the cell where Dr. Watson no longer lived in his body, Jim Moriarty’s sing-song laugh could be heard echoing around the cell. “Someday, my love, someday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and following the adventures of the brothers. Sorry to you who like John, but I always found him condescending to Sherlock. 
> 
> See you soon, as we see the aftermath of everything that happened to Sherlock at John's hands. 'Hold me Tight.


End file.
